


First Impressions (A.K.A. Meeting the Companions)

by ActuallyAPotato



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Allumare is not nice to his new Dashade, Feelings, Friendship, Is this friendship?, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Maybe - Freeform, Oh look now there's gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Really bad use of Spanish read at your own risk, Sith Pureblood, Sith trying to be nice, Some gayness if you squint, Twi'leks, Zash really loves her holocrons, sort of, there is violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8520178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActuallyAPotato/pseuds/ActuallyAPotato
Summary: Empire or Republic, everyone needs a little bit of help sometimes. Some just come in different forms than others.





	1. Sith Warrior (Vell'ar) and Vette

**Author's Note:**

> In which various characters of mine meet their companions from the original storylines. I absolutely adore the companions BioWare gave us, as well as putting OCs in random situations and telling them 'GO,' so this worked out nicely.  
> [I didn't write it following the storyline exaaaactly, so there will be some changes.]

_'Go. Take her; she is yours to do with as you see fit,'_ Baras had told him, referring to the spunky red-skinned Twi'lek down in the holding cells. The same one that had helped him unlock the tomb of an ancient Sith, their name long forgotten. Vell'ar hadn't expected to be... _gifted_ her. She had been useful, that much was true, but she was about as much trouble as she was an asset, causing only slightly less problems than she managed to solve.

In all honesty, he wasn't even sure how to _deal_ with her.

Vell'ar let himself ponder the issue, (if it could even be called that,) as he walked down to the holding cells. From what he had learned of her previously, logic dictated that if he was kind, the results she would produce would be better, but cruelty was one aspect of being Sith, he couldn't just ignore it. Walking between those two lines could be difficult, and worse case it would reap negative results. Bottom line, whatever he did had to benefit the Empire in some way, that was for sure. There was a standard he had to uphold as the eldest son born into a military family- even more so as a Pureblood, and he intended to make sure he upheld it.  
Perhaps it would be best to simply follow his instincts? They had served him well many times in the past.

Unfortunately, Vell'ar was unable to make a full decision before he arrived. Immediately, he was greeted by the bored jailer, who was no doubt eager for any form of distraction from his dull and tedious job.

"Back for the Twi'lek, m'lord?" The ratty human asked, bowing low. After his last blunder almost cost him a limb, he was afraid of the Sith, as he should be. Vell'ar noticed this and gave a pleased nod, to which he was answered with a disappointed groan from the side of the room. The slave girl, no doubt. True enough, her high voice was heard as she started her first protest.

"Really?" She sounded incredulous. " ** _Really_ _?_** That's a little clingy, don't you think? I did what you asked, I got that smelly old tomb open for you! What now? You need me to find a-  _Ackk!"_ The Twi'lek jolted as her shock collar was switched on. Small blue arcs of electricity circled her neck as the jailer held down the button, then stopped.

"Quiet, birdy. Your new master hardly appreciates your chatter."

Behind the human, Vell'ar bristled. "Do you presume to speak for me,  _jailer?_ " He growled, letting a hint of anger seep into his deep voice. The sheer  _audacity_ of that idiotic human, thinking he had the right to talk in a Sith's place. "Or do you believe me incapable of communicating with another sentient being?" He lay a hand on one of his two lightsabers, glaring daggers at the shorter man. "By all means, speak your mind."

The nameless human paled and took a step back, arms raised to shield himself as he cowered in fear, no doubt remembering what had transpired last time he had done something like this. "N-No my lord, I- I didn't mean-"

"Then stay silent and keep your words out of my mouth."

"Y-Yes, m'lord," He whimpered.

Vell'ar gave him another glare for good measure- it was never a good idea to give men like him too much freedom, they always presumed themselves stronger than they actually were.

Wordlessly, the jailer bowed to the Pureblood and handed him the trigger for the slave's shock collar, then opened her cell door. She grinned, stuck out her tongue at the cowering man, and bounced over to Vell'ar's side.

"So what now?" She chirped.

"Come." Vell'ar said simply.

"Where to?" She was surprisingly cheery for someone who had just been placed in servitude to a Sith.

Making a split second decision to act somewhat kindly towards her, he answered, "Dromund Kaas. Have you ever been there?"

"Noooo....Why?"

He huffed; her enthusiasm was a bit much. "They don't like Twi'leks, stay close."

She looked stunned. "Whoa- are you one of those imaginary  _'nice'_ Sith? Wait- am I gonna be your maid now or something?"

Vell'ar shook his head in disbelief. She had known him for about four hours, and for all she knew he was planning to be the most oppressive master she had ever seen, yet she acted as if they were common partners, friends even. He wasn't sure if it was impressive or stupid.

"I'll answer as we walk."

She seemed content with that answer and bounded after him. The Twi'lek quickly found out that she needed two, or even three long strides to match one of his. (Being tall with long legs was great for giving off imposing looks, but not for walking alongside someone much shorter than you.)

"So are we going to break into another tomb on Dromund whatsitsface?" She asked to fill the short silence.

"If my master wishes it so, then yes." Vell'ar nodded, and upon seeing her _very interested_ glance, moved to answer her previous questions. "I have no need for a maid, so you needn't concern yourself with that. Though," He paused, wondering how to phrase his answer. "I am by no means a  _'nice'_ Sith, as you put it, but I am not an oppressive commander." 

"Huh, would you look at that." She cocked her head to the side and grinned. "Maybe things are looking up, what with you as my master and all."

"Commander," He corrected her.

"Hm?" She seemed confused.

"I thought I had made myself clear. Evidently not. You have proven yourself valuable during our time in the tombs, enough so that I have decided to relinquish you of your  position as a slave." Understanding that only telling the partial truth could wound her, he was quick to add, "And perhaps it would help you cultivate a little fondness for me."

"Ok, what was that last part?" She took a few steps back, hands rising instinctively to her neck when he raised an arm, palm up.

"Logic dictated that sentient beings preform better when they are fond of their commanders." Vell'ar quirked an eyebrow in mild amusement. "Did you assume I was attempting to flirt with you?"

"A really bad attempt, yeah." She admitted, chuckling. "So...Me and my buddy, the Sith. No one's going to pick on me at school! Y'know, if I went to school. No one's going to pick on me on Dromund Thingy!" She seemed more at ease now.

"At my side, no one will bother you. You have my assurance on that." Vell'ar lay a hand on her shoulder, frowning in (slight) concern when she flinched at the touch. (For he may have been a Sith, but he had always made an active effort to care for those under his command, though he would never admit it outright.)

"Yeah...Looks like I got some work to do if I want you to grow a sense of humor." She smiled up at him cheekily, but was still unable to hide a slight tremble.

His response to her comment was a mildly amused shrug. Again, she flinched at the movement. It wasn't hard to guess why she did that. If she had run her mouth and her rebellious streak with the warden, (as she no doubt did,) the Inquisitors would have been called in to break her. Their torture was second to none- she would be flinching like that for some time, especially if they had conditioned her to fear physical abuse. None too surprising- it happened often to slaves (or former slaves) like her.

"Uh, hey, since you're kinda on a  _'nice streak'_ now, would you, um...Consider taking the collar off? I really do enjoy the perpetual fear of electrocution, but it really clashes with my outfit, y'know?" She caught his attention again with her rushed request.

Seeing no reason to refuse, he consented. "Very well. Tilt your head forward." She did so hesitantly, exposing the device's locking mechanism. It had no key, perhaps it was meant to stay on her until she died. Not a problem for him, thankfully. A few tugs at the lock with the Force, and she was able to pry it off of her neck. She sighed in content as he threw it to the floor.

"Wow- thanks. I'm really lucky, aren't I? I know I say it a lot but I honestly expected to die down in the tombs, or get given to some creep because of my species. But then I get a boss like you, and everything starts looking up for me!" She comments happily, rubbing at her neck where the collar used to rest.

Vell'ar wasn't so sure that working with him was a good thing, but he answered with (feigned) assuredness. "It seems so, though I'd like to know the name of my new companion." He tested out the last word, sampling how it sounded in regards to the Twi'lek.

Her eyes shone as she replied, "Vette! How 'bout you?"

"Vell'ar." His clipped Imperial accent caused the name to roll off his tongue elegantly, helped along by his endless classes of etiquette.

"Vell'ar...Vell-ar...Vellarrrr...You name's weird." She smirked up at him, looking like she'd won some sort of trophy.

The Pureblood snorted. "So is yours," He shot back, knowing full well that she was teasing. "Vette, Veet, Veettee..."

Vette pouted at first, then broke into laughter loud enough to draw a few glances from some of the Acolytes scattered around the Academy. "Look at you, joking already! I'm such a good influence!"

"Only in your mind."

"You wanna know what I think?" She asked as they walked out into the sands of Korriban, the hot planet cooled by the night sky.

"What do you think?" Vell'ar humoured her, calmed by the look of the normally harsh and forbidding world cast into shadow. It was quite a beautiful sight, one he enjoyed taking time to see when he had the chance.

"I think you're nicer than you think you are."

He paused, staring down at her. Vette had a knowing look in her red eyes, one that secrets couldn't be hidden from. He glanced from her, to the sky above the tombs, and back to her before coming up with an answer.

"I get the strangest feeling that one day you'll be correct about that..."


	2. Sith Inquisitor (Allumare) and Khem Val

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Zash wants a map? Great. He needs the Dashade to help him get it? He can deal with that. Ffon trying to steal his victory? No.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pureblood character number 572, GO!
> 
> [Let it never be said I don't love my Purebloods, or my little Khem. He was such a cute lil' monster, I adored him. But god, fuck Ffon. Him and Harkun- they were good characters, but I wanted to kill both of them so FUCKING BADLY. At least I got to be snarky when talking to them, I love the snarky Inquisitor."]

Allumare took a deep breath, inhaling the distinct scent of force induced electricity, momentarily feeling power surge through him before choking ungracefully on the acrid smell of the droids he'd had to slaughter to get here. Some sort of guardian droids, **_old_** guardian droids. Needless to say, they had posed no real threat to him, where their outdated weapons and rusty gears. Now they lay mangled on the floor in pools of oil and rusted metal- the nightmare of anyone who worshiped old things.

What were old thing worshipers called again? Ah, yes- crazy. Just like Zash, and her strange fascination with just about every old thing on this planet.

Then again, he was the one trying to wake up the Dashade locked away in the center of the room, so maybe he and the crazy people had something in common. It wasn't good looks- that was just him. Old thing people were the kind of creatures who looked 80 at 20. Ugh...

Anyway, he had to be quick now. There were people whom he'd love to shove face-first into his victory- of course he would be able to get that map. There was no way he couldn't! He was born of a noble family, had received all the training possible from the best teachers before going to the Academy, and he was Pureblooded! Really, he doubted that he truly needed the Dashade's help, but the faster he finished, the faster he could be a smug asshole and flaunt his superiority to Harkun.

That idiot rival of his was probably around here somewhere too, (Allumare made a mental note to keep an eye out for him,) no doubt floundering about cluelessly as usual. Normally, Allumare would have loved a little game of Cat and Mouse; finding the other Pureblood and shoving him into the large pit in the center of the cavern would have been oh-so-satisfying, but  ** _alas,_** Zash wanted her map. (Why she wanted a centuries old potential piece of junk was beyond him, but if it made Harkun shut his obnoxious mouth for  **two seconds**....)

The sorcerer held his lightsaber in his right hand, (strange for a Pureblood, a species that was mostly left handed,) ready to ignite the light purple blade at any sign of danger. His left hand was curled, fingers resembling claws as he gathered up a bolt of lightning.

Time to free the Dashade.

What could possibly go wrong?

He thrust his arm forward, palm up, towards the machine holding the beast in stasis. Purple lightning spilled from his fingertips, flying forward into the outdated piece of junk. It hissed and sparked as its systems overloaded, shutting the stasis field off and adding to the smell of fried machinery. Allumare dusted his hand off on his skirt with a self satisfied smirk. His bright yellow eyes eyed the Dashade, who had fallen in front of the Pureblood and drawn its weapon.

"Hello,  _Beast_ ," He greeted. "Ready to serve your new master?"

The Dashade growled in response.  _"The universe is cruel, little Sith._ " It said in an ancient and guttural language, harsh syllables bringing a sneer of disgust to Allumare's face. _"For me, it mocks me by locking me away from my master, leaving me to be awakened by_ ** _you._** _For you, it plays a joke. You wake me seeking a servant, you find a conqueror. You are not Tulak Hord. You will die by my hand and become my first meal before I go and find him."_

Upon hearing its words, Allumare burst into laughter. The sound was cold, cruel, and it echoed off the stone walls. "So sorry," He told it, sarcasm dripping from those two words, making it plainly obvious that _no,_ he  _wasn't_ sorry. "But your old master is dead. I freed you, and now I claim your servitude. But by all means, fight me if you will,  ** _beast."_** He ignited his lightsaber, casting a soft purple glow over the both of them. "I'll teach you your place."

The Dashade lunged.

It brought its Vibrosword up over its head, holding the hilt with both hands, (if those clawed _monstrosities_ could even be _called_ hands,) then swung downward, aiming for Allumare's head. The Pureblood barely had time to jump out of the way before the weapon cut the air where he had just stood, smashing into the stone bridge with the force of a bomb. The stone groaned and cracked- it would have to be avoided.

Despite that impressive show of strength, Allumare chuckled and taunted, "You'll have to do better than that if you want to kill me!"

The Dashade rushed forward again, fueled by its anger, but this time the sorcerer was ready. He blocked the newest blow directed at him with his lightsaber, quickly bringing up his free hand and blasting the monster in the face with lightning. It stumbled back, and he gave it no quarter.  
Now on the offense, he fell into a series of precise feigns and quick strikes designed to make an opponent drop their guard. It worked. The Dashade lifted its blade to block a blow that would never come, and in doing so left itself wide open for attack.  
Allumare flourished his blade, poured an electric charge into it, and hurled it at the Dashade. Its arc was graceful, flying through the air, leaving a swathe of lightning in its deadly path. The monster couldn't block in time, and was rewarded for its failure with a long, deep, gash in its side. The flesh instantly cauterized, and Allumare used the force to pull his blade back to himself.

He grasped it by the hilt and aimed the tip at the Dashade, who was bent over, clutching its ribs. ( _His_ ribs? It was male, wasn't it?) "Ready to admit defeat?" He crooned, voice singsonging, smug.

_"Foolish little Sith."_

He saw the Dashade move, but was slow to react. (Did that thing not feel pain?!) The sorcerer felt the fist in his face and the power of the Dark Side send him flying into the nearest wall before he could even express surprise. He fell to the ground, hacking up blood and clutching at what was no doubt a few broken ribs. Judging by the way he smelled blood every time he breathed in, and how much it hurt doing so, his nose was probably broken too.  
Seeing the Dashade approaching, he tried to reach for his lightsaber, only to discover that it wasn't by his side. It had fallen to the floor when he had been thrown back. It still lay there, 15 feet away.

Struggling to his feet, he attempted a quick healing spell, (just enough so that he could stand and fight,) but a knee to the face sent him toppling backwards, and a fist burying itself in hid gut had him crying out in pain and sinking to his knees in front of the monster.

 _"Weakling,"_ It hissed at him, sword level with his neck.

Allumare spat blood. A thin, angry smile tugged at his lips.

He harnessed his anger at being brought to his knees by a mere beast, his hate of being labeled weak, and his fear of being killed, using them to fuel him, adding to his power. Not bothering to try and get his weapon back or heal himself in the least, he lashed out with a furious shout, lightning engulfing both him and the Dashade as he raised both arms, harnessed the force, and  _pushed_. The monster flew back, nearly falling over the edge of the bridge before it righted itself, only to be assaulted from all directions by a chaotic stream of lightning.  
The Sith's eyes glowed with power, the force of his lightning storm causing him to hover a few inches off the floor as he channeled it. His dyed hair whipped around his face, thrown every-which-way by the lightning he threw at the monster.

He could hear faint sounds of pain coming from the Dashade, partially muted by the storm, but he didn't relent. The moment the storm started dying down, he augmented a bolt of lightning and threw it at the creature, forcing it down again as the electricity arced back and forth between it and the metal surrounding it.

Turned out, he didn't want to work with it after all.

While it was still down, and he still had some energy left, he gathered the rest of his strength in the form of two cracking chains of electricity, one in each hand, preparing to kill it.

"Weakling!"

The voice came from behind him, and without thinking, he whirled around, clapped his hands together, and released all of his remaining power in a devastating beam towards his new, unknown target. Allumare saw a humanoid figure crumble to dust, and from the side, heard a mocking clap.

"Excellent work! Top notch, really!" Ah, so there he was. The Overseer's favorite (pet)/Acolyte. Perfect,  ** _just what he needed._**

Allumare tried to gather himself for another attack, but all he had was spent. He collapsed once more, breathing in labored gasps, forced to stop every so often to cough up the blood that pooled in his throat.

"Good job wearing yourself and the monster out for me, I really must thank you for that. Sadly, all your hard work has gone to waste. You lost, I won. Simple as-" The Pureblood's gloating was cut off as the Dashade, (who was somehow **_still fucking standing_** ), swatted him aside, growling menacingly.

 _"Step away from my new master,"_ It ordered, but Ffon wasn't fooled.

"Ha! Look at you! You've both worn each other out! You can barely stand, and your pathetic excuse for a master is on his last breath!" Ffon cackled, drawing his own lightsaber. "Now get out of my way, or die with him!"

Allumare's vision swam, but he could have sworn he saw a curious glint in the Dashade's eyes as it replied, _"Come kill him then, little Sith."_ With what strength it could still muster, it grabbed the sorcerer, who gave a rather undignified yelp as he was dragged unkindly back to where the fight had first begun. Now his bruises had bruises, and he was going to be quite the sight next morning, if he survived all of this madness.

Ffon laughed at the seemingly pitiful move, and rushed forward recklessly to attack. Being the fool he was, he never checked where he was going. When he reached the damaged section of the bridge, the rock shuddered and broke. The reverberations sent the unbalanced Sith sprawling, unable to do anything to prevent his plummet when the entire section of the bridge gave way moments later.

The Dashade snorted in disbelief and eyed the empty air where the Sith once stood with disgust. _"A fitting end, for such a **pathetic** Sith."_

"Knew him..." Allumare shuddered in pain, but was unable to hold back a laugh at the absurdity of it all. Or maybe he was delirious from blood loss. Maybe both. "For three years...Trust...Me... ** _I know._** "   
Then, as if remembering what was holding him, he scrambled out of the Dashade's grip and to the side, grabbing his lightsaber and pointing it at the monster. Panic and adrenaline rushed through his veins, doing nearly nothing for his exhausted and battered body. Blood was dripping down his chin. His chest throbbed in pain with every breath, and the smell of coppery blood was strong around him. He could barely move, let alone fight. Him holding his lightsaber was just an act he hoped would help him even slightly if the Dashade got it in its head to attack again.  
But the thing had helped him, hand't it? Called him its new master. Or maybe the blood loss was really getting to him.

"Why...Help?" He coughed, wincing in pain when the words made his broken ribs grate against each other.

 _"You defeated me in combat. My code says I serve, for now. I will be free one day, little Sith; live in fear of that day. But today, I serve."_ It explained, and pressed a claw to Allumare's ribs. The Sith shrieked in pain when the ribs snapped into place and began to mend.

_"Going to teach you manners too."_

Allumare laughed at the entirely absurd idea, then instantly regretted it when it caused his not fully healed ribs to re-splinter.

"Great. So- whenever you're ready, beast, we need to find a map."


	3. Sith Inquisitor (Zovereign) and Andronikos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you hire a pirate?  
> You don't. He kinda just tags along because Stars know what was going on.

"Y'know, when I became a Sith, I didn't expect to be followed around by old artifacts," The hooded assassin complained, unaffected by his company (or the people who's company he was in,) staring at him with wide eyed confusion. Weirded out, probably. They must not have gotten many ranting Sith in this part of the desert. "'Pirates!' Zash says. 'Oh boy! I go. What do I get? Yup, more _priceless, ancient Sith doohickeys."_

Next to him, Andronikos, pirate numero uno in question, snorted. (How and why they were here, and how and why they were surrounded by armed, angry, and very possibly  _rabid_ thugs was a long story. Not really. Sith wanted doohickey, pirate wanted revenge on the dude who had said doohickey, the end.) In amusement, annoyance, disgust; Zovereign couldn't quite tell. (Which was totally fine- knowing someone's every waking thoughts would have been boring and actually really creepy.)  
The dark-skinned human, presumably having grown tired of all the back and forth argument between the assassin and who they were here to kill, unhooked his blaster from his belt and pointed it at pirate numero dos; his ex-first mat something or other.  
The one that had the artifact he needed.

Silas (that was his name, right?) laughed and motioned for his guards to match his former boss and pull their weapons out. He, though, as either a sign of cowardice or extremely misplaced overconfidence left his rifle slung over his shoulder.  
"Sorry, but this thing is mine. I didn't go through all the trouble to get it only to hand it over to the first person who comes knocking at my door!"

"Hey now," Zovereign raised his hands as if to calm Silas down, a wicked smile pulling at the corners of his lips behind his mask as he did so. "Who said anything about simply  _ **giving**_ it to me? That's so boring and mundane- I would never say that. I never DID say that. He turned his head to face the pirate by his side. "I didn't say that, did I?"

Wisely, Andronikos ignored him.

The Sith almost laughed at Silas's confused glare. "So you... _ **don't**_ want it?" Pirate dos looked...angry? Angry but confused. Was that a thing? Now it was.

"Me personally? Nah." Zovereign added in a casual shrug, just to get his nonchalance about this entire operation across. "But the boss does. I swear, that woman is crazy. One night I went to tell her something and found her tucking a Holocron into bed.  _A HOLOCRON._ Who does that? I'm also about 99 percent sure that she was reading it an old Sith fairy tale, but she shut the door in my face before I could really find out."  
The room was quiet, save for the sound of weapons preparing to fire.  
"Oh I see how it is..." He muttered under his breath. "Fine! How about a little game of keep away?"

"Sith?" Andronikos voiced his entire question in one word, to which Zovereign just shrugged once more and replied, "Who doesn't love games?"

"I don't like it when they gamble on my future," The pirate growled, looking for the nearest source of cover. You know, just in case those guards who could have totally opened fire and killed both of them already decided to do just that.

"A pirate who doesn't gamble?" Zovereign joked. "Disgraceful."

"Cute, Sith. Real cute," Silas interjected, finally regaining his senses and realizing that he had the momentary upper hand. "Men, open fire!"

The hooded figure cackled as he waved an arm in the air, using the Force to cloak himself in darkness. A handy little trick, especially for an assassin. (Or a shadow, he supposed.) Made the target(s) impossible to detect with the naked eye, or even with most cybernetic enhancements. In fact, you needed some really specific things to be able to sense a powerful assassin. (Or shadow.)

"I'm not cute," He protested dryly as he slid out his lightsaber from where it had been hooked onto the back of his belt. Now that he was out of the Academy, (thank the Stars,) he was free to modify his weapon as he wished, and he took full advantage of that. The hilt was twice as long as usual, making it more of a double ended pike than saber, and he had fitted it with a synthetic black and red crystal, courtesy of Zash.

Crazy as that woman was, she could be quite generous when she wished to be. 

He flicked one end on and slashed the nearest pirate across the neck. The Zabrak barely had time to emit a dying gurgle before he fell forward onto the stone floor. Flickering in and out of stealth for a moment, Zovereign added, "I'm deadly! But, I mean, if you find that stuff cute I wont judge you for it."

"Bet I can kill more of 'em than you, Sith!" Andronikos shouted over his shoulder as he dodged a blaster bolt and rolled into the cover he had scouted out moments ago. (He _knew_ that it would come in handy.)

Zovereign impaled second pirate, then quickly whirled around to deflect a blaster bolt aimed at his back, redirecting it back towards the human who shot it. Maybe these pirates weren't so stupid after all, he thought as he blasted one with lightning and shouted, "You're on!" They knew where to aim if one of their comrades was cut down.  
He really did like single, high priority target assassinations better. 

Andronikos was holding up well. From his vantage point/cover, he was able to get easy picks on the pirates not following his lead and ducking down behind something, and he was safe from most blaster bolts that came his way, provided he could duck down fast enough.

Zovereign, for the part he was playing, was a much more immediate and obvious threat to the pirates. Sinking in and out of stealth, cutting down whoever was in range of his lightsaber, (which was about 8 feet long with one end activated,) and throwing lightning at those who weren't, carving a swathe of destruction as he silently moved around, made him slightly more imposing than a Human with a blaster, no matter how good said pirate's aim was.

Purposefully, he avoided Silas, letting the idiot panic and suffer for his mistake of even  _thinking_ he could kill a Sith.

Pirate dos actually WAS panicking now. Having finally taken his rifle in hand, he was firing wildly in all directions, praying to whatever gods he knew for a lucky shot on the phantom that was plaguing him and his guards.  
Naturally, he did nothing but hit his own men.

The fight itself was over relatively quickly, with the assassin dispatching most of the pirates, and Andronikos picking off those he didn't. (Their end scores were 34 to 27, in favor of Zovereign.)

Now standing alone with the Sith and pirate captain, Silas let his weapon clatter to the floor and fell to his knees, eyes glassing over with the horror of his defeat.

"Oh, I hate this part..." Zovereign commented, tugging his hood lower over his mask so it wouldn't fall. Seeing Andronikos raise a questioning eyebrow, (he wasn't a talkative guy, huh?) like,  _'what part, exactly?'_ he added, "Y'know, the part where they plead for their lives thinking they might actually be allowed to live? The screaming when they find out they can't?" He turned to Silas. "Spoiler alert, buddy, you die."

"Wait! Wait!" Silas pleaded. "You need me to find the artifact!"

"Oh no," Zovereign drawled sarcastically. "Wherever could it POSSIBLY be? CERTAINLY it isn't that very obvious Sith Holocron behind you!" He dramatically placed the back of his hand on his forehead and pretended to lose balance. _"Catch me,_ Andronikos!"

Andronikos didn't. Instead,he watched and laughed as the Sith fell to the floor with a loud _thud_   _.  
_ "Good job," He poked fun at the assassin with an amused smirk.

"That's not how the trust fall  _ **works,**_ Andronikos!" Zovereign protested dryly. "I almost impaled myself on my lightsaber."

Silas muttered something along the lines of, "Don't **_I_** wish," which earned him a casual kick in the ribs from the captain.

"Don't trust me, then."

"Done and done," Zovereign nodded, picking himself up off the floor. He motioned at Silas with his weapon. "Care to do the honors? I hate listening to their whimpers."

Silas wheezed and made a garbled sound that might have been a protest, or maybe a request for toilet paper. Judging by the current state of his pants, he needed some.

"Gladly." Andronikos leveled his blaster with his ex-first mate's head, held it there for the slightest moment, then pulled the trigger. Blood, brains, and- maker was that an EYE?- flew all over the wall and floor. Silas's lifeless body toppled forward onto the human, who kicked it off with a sound of disgust.  
They stood there quietly for an awkward moment, Andronikos breaking the silence with a grumble of: "After all that buildup, I really expected a bit more fight from him."

"Lovely," Zovereign muttered irritably, doing his best to wipe off as much gore from himself as he could. Naturally, his robes and armor were doing  ** _their_** best to thwart him, which made him growl in annoyance. 

"'Lovely' to me, or 'lovely' to your robes?" Andronikos asked, hidden amusement dancing in his eyes as he stared at the irked Sith.

"'Fuck it' to both," The assassin pinched a particularly bloody part of his robe with his thumb and forefinger, bringing it closer to his eyes for better inspection. "This is never coming out, is it? Disgusting."

"Sith who don't like blood?" Andronikos mimicked Zovereign's sarcastic joke from earlier. "Disgraceful."

"People who steal other people's jokes; disgraceful."

Someone behind them cleared their throat. "Well, boys, if you could maybe stop flirting with each-other for a sec, maybe you could find some time to help a girl out?"

The two men turned to find a woman, (she looked familiar to the Sith,) kneeling on the floor, clutching a wounded leg. Shot, from the way the wound looked. (How on Hutta had they missed her?)

"Oh, hey," Andronikos awkwardly raised an arm in a half -hearted attempt to wave.

She obviously didn't like that.   
"Don't you, 'oh hey,' me!" She snapped at him angrily. (Really, where had Zovereign seen her before? That annoying voice was familiar.) "I help this Sith to get him to help you to get what you need and all I get is an, 'oh, hey?!'"

"Care to repeat that line of gibberish again?" Zovereign asked, ever so slightly confused.

"Sith, I'm your freaking contact! Andronikos, don't pretend you don't know me!!"

Andronikos shot a wary look at the assassin, who had taken a few (not nervous- certainly not nervous) steps back. The pirate looked the same way a cornered Akk Dog did: nervous and cautious.

Zovereign raised an eyebrow, an action that was hidden behind his mask. "How DO you two know each-other? She your crazy ex-girlfriend or something?" Hey, if he needed to kill her too...He wouldn't exactly mind. She wouldn't be much of a challenge, not with that leg, but he hadn't lived down the adrenaline rush from the earlier combat, and he was itching for a way to work it out of his system.   
(And, you know, because Sith were on their periods 24/7, regardless of gender and/or species. Special people, Sith.)

"I have no idea who she is," The shorter man answered much too quickly for his words to hold any truth. His posture had changed to that of a condemned man. Was the pirate captain truly afraid of some injured....teenager? (Or however old the girl was. Zovereign never understood other species, always looking a different age than hey actually were. It never made any sense to him.)

"Lies!" The girl hissed, as if that fact were not painfully obvious already. "Andronikos, don't you dare pretend-"

"Can we leave now?" The human turned to the Sith, hesitant and impatient."You got your artifact, I got my revenge. We're done here." His fingers hovered over his blaster, twitching nervously. He looked like he might shoot the girl at any moment, and while that may have been an entertaining sight, Zovereign was eager to get of this disgusting excuse for a planet.

Hutta was bad, Korriban was worse, Tatooine was a place straight from the devil's upper nostril.  
Hot and annoying.

Taking a moment to question his strange metaphor, he offered his partner a small shrug. "Sure, why not."

The girl shrieked in rage and lunged forward, (toppled forward, really,) making a grab for the pirate, who danced out of her reach with a small noise of disgust, or maybe panic. He wasn't easy to get a read on; the Sith enjoyed that.

They left the wounded girl behind when they left Silas's old hideout. Both were pleased to be rid of her grating voice, banshee-esque howls, and constant shrieking. Zovereign, of course, was still curious about who she was to the human, but he made no move to ask. The desert had sapped all of his energy, drained it out of him like he was a water tap, and replaced it with classic Tatooine HEAT.  

This place was Hell, if Hell existed.

Their speeders had been lost when they attacked the hideout, so the walk back to Mos Ila was a long one. A really long one. Five boring hours to be exact. Five long, torturous, BORING hours. Andronikos remained silent throughout the duration of their walk, trailing behind the taller male, seemingly sulking all the way. (Or trying to catch some relief by hiding in the assassin's shadow.)

Trying to start up a conversation had been out of the question. (Doing ANYTHING had been out of the question.)

At least when they reached the space station things got slightly more bearable. Industrial grade air, COOL air, enveloped them the moment they walked through the blast doors. Behind him, he heard Andronikos sigh audibly with relief. He himself plucked at his robes, heavy with sweat and blood, trying to detach them from his body. The cool air helped, but not by much.

In front of them stood a bored Imperial guard, datapad in her hand. She didn't look up when they approached, apparently finding more entertainment in a formal report, (or whatever the hell she was reading,) rather than the two of them.  
"Name, rank, and destination," She requested. Even her clipped Imperial accent sounded swollen with boredom.

"You don't need to know, you don't need to know, and you don't need to know. Move, woman, I don't like waiting." Zovereign demanded. The heat had not only sapped his energy, but his patience as well, and Maker be damned if he gave a fuck about how rude he was. It was all he could do to restrain himself to haul the guard up with the Force and throw her out of the way- into the nearest wall, perhaps.

"You're a real charmer, you know that?" Andronikos whispered behind him.

The woman, apparently, wasn't concerned. Maybe she didn't know she was in the company of a Sith Lord, maybe she didn't care. Her only reaction to his rudeness was to sigh and lower her datapad.  
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid that I can't let you pass until-" Her eyes flicked upward, finally detaching herself from that report she was so enamored with, to settle on Zovereign and Andronikos. The Sith was pleased to see that her eyes blew open in fear when they rested on him.

He waited a moment, trying to gauge what her next reaction would be. When all she did was stand frozen, datapad held loosely in one hand, mouth agape, he his lost patience once more.   
"Well?" He snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. Clawed fingers tapped impatiently on his gauntlets. If it hadn't been obvious that he had been running out of patience before, he was making it clear that he was out of it now.

His cold voice, distorted by the mask, snapped the guard out of her temporary stupor. The datapad clattered to the floor in her rush to bow.

"M-m'lord, I'm so sorry," She stammered, trying to correct her mistake. "I didn't realize- my commander wanted this report-  _ack!"_

A cold air settled around her, cutting her off. Her vision blurred, then focused on the Sith's outstretched arm. She choked, gasped, suffocating on a phantom block in her throat. No matter how much she clawed at her throat, nothing changed.  
"M'lord-!" She choked out. Only when she fell to the ground, unconscious, skin tinged an unhealthy blue, (for a Human,) did he let go of his hold on the force. He could have snapped her neck, but found the action not worth the effort.

Anyone who had seen the spectacle, be they civilian, Imperial, or outlaw, turned away. Some bolted for cover. A general sense of unease had settled over the port.

The silence was almost too loud. Thankfully, Andronikos broke the tense moment with a question of, "Bad mood?"

Zovereign stepped over the guard's fallen body and continued on inside. "When am I not?"

The pirate offered him an amused shrug and followed.

The spaceport wasn't large by Imperial standards. Only enough room for 20 public ships and 4 private ships to dock,. Then again, not many Imperials (or anyone, really,) wanted to travel to the dusty, Force-forsaken, sleazy excuse for a planet. That being said, both Sith and  pirate wanted off the planet almost as much as an Alderaanian noble would want to avoid it.

They reached a private docking bay access lift, with a digit lock on the side. Zovereign tapped out the code, then pressed the button to lower the lift to the second level.  
As they descended, Andronikos took it upon himself to ask something that he had been curious about for a while now.

"Sith?"

The masked figure turned towards his companion, tilting his head in question as if to say,  _'go on.'_

Andronikos rested his hand on one of his blasters, a silent sign to show that he was ready to fight if the Sith had betrayal in mind.

"Why am I here?"

Zovereign would have been offended at the tone Andronikos took, if it wasn't for his own reputation. The pirate had a right to be cautious around someone like him.

"Well how else are you getting off world?"

Andronikos stopped; blinked.

"What?"

Zovereign raised his arms in mock surrender, showing that he was unarmed. A small chuckle spilled from his throat at the pirate's confusion. The poor human looked so lost.

"I assumed you didn't have a ship- and by the look of it, you seem like a man who enjoys his work." The lift door opened, and he stepped out, extending a hand in offering to the other man.

The pirate eyed him cautiously. "Are you offering me a job?"

"Maybe." Zovereign sounded cheeky, but convincing.

Andronikos laughed. He grabbed the Sith's hand and shook it, then let himself be gently tugged out of the lift.

"You have a deal."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't even ask how Spanish ended up in Star Wars. Just know that I was on a sugar high when I wrote most of this.


End file.
